


Alone Is Not What Protects You

by sherlockholmes-notanamateur (loki_godofmischiefandlies)



Series: Vampires of London [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Vamp!lock, Vamplock, eventual slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loki_godofmischiefandlies/pseuds/sherlockholmes-notanamateur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes grew up being told that being alone is what would protect him in life. Every member of the Holmes coven was taught that from birth. But then John Watson stumbles into his life and Sherlock realizes that being alone is the singularly most terrifying thought to ever occur to him. </p><p>But will John stick around when he finds out Sherlock's secret?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discussion and Decision

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an omegle RP. Any paragraphs followed by an asterisk (*) were copied directly from the log and are the words of my partner. Other than that, all writing is my own.

John stood on the landing in front of 221B and stared at the front page of the newspaper for longer than was exactly necessary. He was eventually able to shake himself out of his stupor long enough to walk into the flat and stand next to Sherlock, who was at the kitchen table fiddling with his microscope. 

"Sherlock, we need to talk." John said weakly.  Sherlock continued to twist the adjustment knobs of the microscope and didn't even look up as John walked over.

"Hmm?" he asked, although it was more of a hum than an actual statement. John gritted his teeth and put the paper down on the table next to the microscope.

"We need to talk." John repeated, tapping the front page of the newspaper twice. "This is  _not good_." 

The tone of John's voice caught Sherlock's attention immediately, and he tore his eyes away from his experiment to quickly read the front page of the newspaper. "Those bodies have absolutely nothing to do with me." Sherlock said dismissively before letting his eyes trail back to the eyepiece of the microscope. 

"They dont? Because I'm pretty sure if people find out about your little secret, they're going to start pointing fingers  _right at you_. This has clever written all over it!" John practically hissed, running a hand through sandy hair. 

"It is rather clever," Sherlock smirked, revealing two elongated canines, "but seeing as almost nobody actually believes in the existence of my kind, they're not even going to guess that I  _am_ one." he said before picking up the paper and looking at it again. "But this is interesting...whoever this is is definitely working outside of the rules." 

"You have rules?" John asked, arching an eyebrow. Sherlock rolled his eyes at John and gave him an expression that clearly read 'don't be stupid John, of course we have rules.' However, Sherlock sighed and folded up the paper anyway. 

"Of course vampires have rules. Every group has rules. The humans do, even animals have rules. Our rules are just...more complex." Sherlock said, moving to gather the scissors and several balls of string from a drawer. He moves back to the table and begins cutting out photographs and bits of the article. "The only downside is that we don't have a government or a police force to enforce our rules. We have to take matters into our own hands and that can get rather...messy." Sherlock continued as he gathered the cuttings and moved to the large cork board John had purchased and hung in the sitting room to spare their wall from more holes. The board was then covered with a map of London to help Sherlock map crime scenes for serial killings and the like.

"So somebody is breaking your rules and nobody's doing anything about it?" John asked as he watched Sherlock hang the photos and cuttings on the board, different coloured strings connecting different parts of the board in an intricate pattern that only made sense to Sherlock. 

"Yes. Rogue vampires are annoying and cause unneccessary complications...so I need to figure out whoever this is and stop them." Sherlock huffed, taking a step back and examining his work. He moved a few strings absently and John bit his lip as he thought.

"You and whoever else is in your vampire...family thing...whatever you call it, need to figure out whoever this rogue is and stop them before they get all the other vampires in London killed you mean?" John asked. He knew only a little of the intricate vampire society that Sherlock belonged to. Sherlock nodded.

"Coven." he said before his mouth snapped shut again in concentration. John pursed his lips.

"Is Mycroft in your coven? Because he would be an excellent resource to tap for this. These killings are all really widespread." John said after a moment. Sherlock made an irritated face but eventually nodded in agreement. 

"It might be more complicated than that." Sherlock said with a wry smile as he moved yet another string. "We prefer not to kill our own, and if my thoughts are correct-" 

"This might be more than just one rogue vampire causing a problem." John finished, finally catching on to Sherlock's train of thought. Sherlock beamed at him, and John was not at all alarmed by the two fangs that protruded from Sherlock's gums. 

"Exactly." Sherlock said, steepling his hands in front of his face as he examined the map he now had put together. "You asked if Mycroft was a vampire...he is. In fact, most of my family is, on the Holmes side. My mother, for instance, is not." Sherlock elaborated, and for a moment John didn't know where this was going.

John trailed his eyes along the map and realized that a lot of these murders were taking place near areas where the Holmes coven had taken up residence; one was only six blocks from 221B, another lay three blocks east of Mycroft's apartment. The Diogenes club had been surrounded on three sides by crime scenes. "Jesus Christ." John muttered. "Is this like a turf war or something? I can't pretend to know much about the inner workings, but I know your family has a bit of an old fashioned...bite to it, if you'll excuse the pun. I know I'm no expert, but that's what it's starting to look like to me." 

"I know you're not an expert John. How could you be, when you didn't even know of our existence until you met me. Actually, scratch that, until that encounter you had in Afghanistan." Sherlock mused before his eyes lit up. "However, you are extremely accepting and even understanding of this life...so I owe you my thanks for that. You are very good at allowing me to bounce ideas off of you." Sherlock complimented. "There are two ways to make a vampire John. The first way is to find a victim and inject venom into their bloodstream. The other way is to find a blood host, like my mother. If a vampire impregnates a blood host, the child will be born a vampire as well." 

"I know about the venom. I almost got injected in Afghanistan, remember?" John said, gaining a softened glare from Sherlock. "But whatever. So do you think this is a clan trying to expand? Because that's what it seems you're getting at here. Maybe they're rejecting blood hosts...I mean, all of the victims except for one were young women in their early twenties...the perfect child bearing age from a biological standpoint. You need to explain to me what you think is going on or I can't help you." John spoke, tapping on two of the photos on the board. Sherlock grinned broadly at John.

"That's exactly what I'm thinking. However, I could be completely wrong and the female element could just be a way to agitate the older covens in London. Finding a blood host is a very hard thing to do." Sherlock pondered. "These rogues can't be a part of a large clan though. Maybe two, three members tops. And someone is keeping them under control. Younger vampires have blood lust for weeks after they're changed." Sherlock explained. John glared at the map on the wall as if it would tell him its secrets if he stared hard enough. Then he let out a slow sigh.

"So maybe the best way to get to these rogues would be to send a...younger vampire in after them? You know...a covert ops type deal. They seem to be really, _really_  good at cleaning up evidence." John said after a few seconds. The lack of evidence had been infuriating Lestrade and Sherlock (and therefore John) for days. "I mean, if they want numbers, do you think they'd care where they got them from?" 

Sherlock was quiet for a minute, his hands falling to his hips as he examined the map in front of him. "That would be the easiest way to get into the group, yes. Find out how they control the new changelings, find their leaders, stop the group before they become too powerful. But that's unfortunately impossible. We would either have to find a willing volunteer or latch onto a changeling they've already set their eyes on." Sherlock said, his voice becoming a frustrated growl at the end. John took a slow breath and swallowed heavily, drawing himself up so that he was standing up straight. 

John swallowed heavily and closed his eyes for a second before standing up straight. He had been thinking about it for months; life without Sherlock had been unbearable, and he didn't want to wither and die and leave Sherlock alone either. "I'll do it." he said quietly. "You can change me and I'll infiltrate their little group. I mean, nobody knows you're a vampire and they'll be too busy sucking half of London's women dry to even put two and two together."

After John's proposal, Sherlock turned on him, and he didn't look happy. The taller man looked all the more foreboding, eyes practically glowing as he hissed, "I am not turning you into a vampire, John." He then spun on his heel and headed back into the kitchen. "Absolutely not. There's another way to break into this group, I just need to find it."*

John followed Sherlock into the kitchen. "Why the hell not? I'm here, I'm willing, and I'm your friend! I know what I'm getting into, I've seen it for years! And it may come as a surprise, but I don't want to leave you. Ever." John said, his voice cracking slightly at the last admission. "I won't beg, but Sherlock...don't make this harder than it has to be. I...I sort of want this. It's not something I've just come up with either."

Sherlock tried to distract himself with his things in the kitchen, but it was obvious he could still hear John as he grew more agitated. He was pretending to look through the newspaper again when he looked up to stare at John for a moment after his admission. He stood there for a while, staring down at the table. After a moment he straightened up and walked up close to the other, setting one hand on John's arm and the other on the side of his face. "It's not easy John, especially with the venom. You'll want to kill. You'll always get the urge to kill, even once you think you have it under control. And living the long life of a vampire is not easy; it's not something a human can handle."*

John leaned into Sherlock's touch easily and smiled softly at him. "Sherlock, I was a soldier. Do you really think the urge to kill isn't already there? You might not realize it, but I'm not all sugar and warmth." he mumbled. The comment about the long life made John's smile become a little sad around the edges. "And I know the whole living practically forever thing isn't _easy_  Sherlock. But do you really think I want you to go it alone anymore? I've had your back since the day we met, and I know you've had mine. I don't want that to ever end. You're my best friend."

Sherlock stared, a little hopelessly at the other, for once not knowing what to say or do. He didn't remove his hand from John's face, but he moved the other a little lower to grip more firmly at John's arm. He stared off for a second, looking at nothing, before he finally looked back at John. After a moment, he removed his hands, settling them down to his side. "Alright...do you want to maybe wait, and, enjoy being human? We don't have to do it right away."*

John's face softened and he sighed in relief. Sherlock wasn't turning him away, wasn't abandoning him or telling him that he was crazy. That was good. He shook his head in response to Sherlock's question though. "No. I've had over forty years enjoying humanity. I'm not getting any younger and I don't want to be preserved for eternity as an old man." he said, his tone light although he was serious about not wanting to be preserved forever looking like a barmy old man

Sherlock smirked a little at the barmy old man comment, before growing serious once again. "You may not be young man, John, but you are considered young in vampire eyes. Because of that, you will be under my responsibility. Whatever you do or say will be blamed onto me." He didn't seem to be saying this for his sake. "If anything happens, just blame me, alright? In our ways, there is no use blaming yourself at least for the first 100 years."*

John stared at Sherlock for a moment before grinning almost wickedly. "Finally, I get to make you be responsible." he teased before nodding. "I'll try not to misbehave. You'll have to teach me all of the rules you know. And you'll definitely have to keep me from killing people if the blood lust is as bad as you say it is. Maybe lock me up somewhere and throw donor bags at me until I'm good again, yeah?" he said. "I mean, I definitely want this, I just want to make this as...unmessy as possible, if that'll work for the case too." he added with a faint grin.

Sherlock smiled a bit, always appreciating the bit of humor John always manage to put into a situation. It was relieving, in a way. And he always impressed Sherlock, whether John was aware of it or not. He would make a noble vampire someday. "Of course." he said, nodding. Then with a sigh, Sherlock gestured to the stairs. "Go on then. Go up to your room and get changed into something comfortable you won't mind being torn up, and get on the bed." Sherlock glanced up, grinning at whatever expression the other would give him. "I won't overly romanticize it, John. The transformation is painful. I would like it to be as comfortable as possible"*


	2. Changeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has caved and has agreed to turn John, not just for the case, but so they won't ever have to leave each other. These are the first few days of John's new life, and how Sherlock copes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, since I've copied so much from the original RP log (I loved both my work and my partner's and decided not to touch it), everything in Sherlock's point of view was written by my partner until the first line of dash marks (the page break for lack of a better explanation). I don't want anyone thinking her brilliance is my work :D all the other page breaks are just there because that's how I do haha.

John blinked almost stupidly at Sherlock for a moment before nodding in acceptance. "Yeah, I figured as much. But Sherlock...I trust you." he said before walking upstairs. He took a slow breath when he reached his bedroom and looked at himself in the mirror. Nodding at his reflection, knowing this was what he wanted, John crossed to his dresser and pulled out a rather worn Army tee and a pair of navy sweatpants. He changed into them and then sat on the bed, waiting for Sherlock.

Sherlock stared after John as he headed up stairs, mind mulling over everything that just happened, including John's last few words. _I trust you_. He took sometime and closed up the flat, also taking some time to get dressed in something comfortable. His night shirt and some plain trousers he hardly ever wore; just held on for looking normal, really. He took a moment to fetch a blood bag he had stored away, topping off any hunger he may have had. Finally, he headed up to John's room, walking in and closing the door behind him. He stared at the other for a moment, not moving. "You're sure about this then?"

John stared right back at Sherlock and realized he was never more sure of anything in his life. "I'm positive. I don't want to lose you. Not now, and not ever." John said firmly, his eyes full of that fierce determination that got him his captaincy, put him through medical school, and allowed him to love Sherlock as much as he did, whatever that love would manifest itself into later down the road. "Let's do this." he said with a reassuring smile.

Sherlock met John's gaze full on, watching for any kind of hesitancy or second thoughts, poised to latch on them and drag them out. But, as remarkable as ever, he couldn't see one. John Watson was always so full of surprises. The vampire wondered vaguely if he still would be centuries from now. With a nod, Sherlock stepped away from the door, climbing up onto the bed on his knees and coming to sit behind the other. Placing his hands on the other's shoulder, he manipulated the man back against his chest, leaning him slightly to get his head to rest on his arm, neck exposed. "Relax, okay?"

John melted easily into Sherlock's touch, his body trusting the vampire as much as his mind did. He nodded and smiled as gently as ever. "I'm relaxed." he breathed, although he did wonder if he would ever need to breathe again. Sherlock did, but John wasn't sure if that was for show or if the transition didn't get rid of the need for oxygen. He let his head loll against Sherlock's arm, exposing more of his neck.

Sherlock watched the other for a moment, observing how the other seemed to easily reply to his orders, even without words. After a moment, he breathed out, lowering his head until his lips hovered just over John's neck, pausing just for a moment as he allowed John's scent to flood his senses. Finally, he lowered down, placing an almost open mouthed wet kiss to the other's neck before trailing his tongue one or two times over the same skin. It was all just to soften up the skin a bit more, to make room for his fangs, and then Sherlock sunk his fangs into John's neck, the pain like a few pricks before disappearing momentarily.

John made a soft noise of affection as Sherlock laved at his neck, although he knew that this was probably not an affectionate action but one born out of necessity. He gasped sharply as Sherlock's fangs plunged into his neck, but the pain soon dissipated into something akin to an adrenaline rush. He was acutely aware of his heart thundering in his chest, and he realized he was going to die. But this time, he wasn't praying to live. "Sherlock I trust you." he mumbled almost sleepily, squeezing Sherlock's knee gently.

Sherlock savored the taste of John's blood rushing over his tongue. Vampires had blood in them as well, but it wasn't completely nourishing as a human's blood was. And human's blood always had a certain tang to it that lacked in vampires. Maybe it was their mortality? He couldn't be sure if John's would completely change after the transformation, although he was unsure if he'd ever get the opportunity to taste the other again. John's words snapped him out of his revery, and for a reply the detective held the other a little closer. It was time. Taking a moment to concentrate, Sherlock pulled deep into himself and, against his instincts, brought up and pushed out a venom that lay dormant in most vampires. The substance bit, hard, and seemed to explode into the human, tearing through his veins like fire and shrapnel.

John smiled when Sherlock held him close, but that smile morphed into a sob of pain as the venom seeped into his bloodstream. His body tensed and he thrashed against Sherlock unconsciously, his body desperate to cling to its mortality even though his mind wanted this so desperately. He moaned Sherlock's name and clung to whatever parts of him he could reach, vision going black as the heat ripped through his blood and made his body shake with agony.

Sherlock held on, keeping his fangs embedded in the others neck. He waited for the venom to run its course out of his body and into John, conscious of the fact that his body knew how much to give John and would stop the flow once it had given the correct amount. Once it had, Sherlock pulled his fangs out, the bite marks closely up unnaturally quick due to the venom. Once he had, he pressed his head onto John's shoulder, clinging close to him. "You're dying." he spoke, having the need to say something. Anything. "Your human self is dying and your vampire self will be born."

John groaned in pain and went limp in Sherlock's arms. "I know I'm dying." he whispered, feeling the weakness flood his limbs and his body start to shut down. He was in pain, that much was undeniable, but he knew that it would all be worth it. "Sherlock...I know I'm going to come out of this...but I...want the last thing I say alive to be that...I love you..." he mumbled, sinking slowly into death. His body was still rebelling, shooting pain through every part of itself it could manage all while his heart began to beat sickeningly slow and his breathing matched.

Sherlock lifted his head slightly, staring back at John. After a moment, he didn't say a word, before he lifted his head up to temporarily press the front of his face to the side of John's, unsure if the other could feel it through the veil of pain. "I love you too." he whispered, shifting the limp body to rest him down on the bed, head against the pillows. "It must be painful to die..." he murmured, staying close beside the other, one arm still holding the other down. "But as much as it's painful to die....it's even more so to come back." He shut his eyes, pressing himself to the others side."I'm sorry John, for this next part." For a moment, John did die, right after Sherlock's words. And it was almost blissful. No noise, no light, no pain. Like floating. Only for it to come crashing down as a pain far greater then before bloomed, like claws tearing at the inside of his flesh and axes cutting at bones.

John did indeed feel the press of Sherlock's face against his and he pressed back weakly, using the last of his strength to do so. He only hummed in agreement, tears rolling down his cheeks from eyes crushed shut as he was laid out on the bed. The words Sherlock spoke registered and he felt a spike of fear course through his system before he was engulfed in darkness, floating in nothingness. And then he screamed in agony as it all came rushing back, feeling as if his insides were being ripped out, thrashing and writhing in agony as a new sort of life was forced into his body.

For the few seconds when life seemed to leave John's body, Sherlock panicked, and he saw why this had to be done. Not for some stupid case, but to keep John around for the rest of their long, long lives. It became clear how unbearable it would be to lose John to a thing like mortality. Not just to watch him grow old, but to see that breath of life slip away for good. Sherlock then clung tightly to the other, unperturbed by any hits he gained from the other as he thrashed. John, although strong for a human, never could match Sherlock's own strength. But that was about to change. He held on while it lasted, knowing it would simmer down soon to a dull ache, going down until a new ache would grow. One of hunger.

Eventually John stilled in Sherlock's arms, groaning quietly and shivering. The transformation had wrecked his body, leaving him exhausted. "Sshlock?" he slurred, feeling the tight grip around him. However, instead of clammy, Sherlock finally felt _warm_. John nestled into his touch and allowed himself to relax for a while before he felt a dull ache in his jaw. "Thirsty." he murmured, his body suddenly kickstarting into action. His eyes flew open and he flipped over to look at Sherlock demandingly.

Sherlock sighed, loosening his hold a little as the other finally settled down. "I'm here." He reassured the other, straightening up, keeping his hold on the other still. Sherlock's eyes widened as the other suddenly moved, staring back at John. His John, but now there was something more. He narrowed his eyes, sitting up in the bed, while keeping his eyes locked with the others. "I know. I'll feed you, but you do what I say, got it?" he said, holding a tone he never had with John. But it wasn't just John he was looking at in the other's eyes. It was something else, something that was not only a part of John, but him as well. Something he'd have to learn how to control. "Your body is still weak. I'll carry you downstairs, alright?" he said, reaching out towards the other calmly.

John's eyes widened at Sherlock's controlling tone, but that new something inside of him stirred slightly and he felt his head nod before he could even think about it. "Yeah." he mumbled, and he knew that his body was weak. "Just...I need something...so hungry." he groaned quietly, feeling that need building and racing through his body. However, he just sagged into Sherlock's arms pliantly, the newest part of him willing to submit to Sherlock for some reason.

"I know you do. And I promise, I'll feed you." Sherlock said, his tone softening the slightest, but keeping it ever present. He took up John in his arms, holding him up easily, letting the other settle his head against his shoulder. Getting up from the bed, he moved over, opened the door relatively easily, and started heading downstairs. Once he reached it, he walked John into the kitchen, settling him into the wooden seat at the end of the table. It'd be easier to clean up any messes here. "Stay." he said, firmly, before turning to fetch a few blood packets. They would be some of his last ones. He'd need to get more for a home of two blood suckers now. 

John let Sherlock carry him and he slumped against the chair easily when he was put down. He perked up immediately at the sight of the blood packets and he felt the ache in his jaw intensify before two elongated canines emerged from between his lips. He growled needily but remained in his seat. "Sherlock." he whined, almost infant-like. He was a fledgling, and although he was desperate, the new nature forming in his body and mind recognized Sherlock as his creator of sorts and obeyed him. "Please." he said.

Sherlock stared at the other for a moment, feeling something very different than the hunger of blood deep inside him as he watched John. John begging to him, needing him. The detective shook his head, keeping himself focused. Before handing the packets over, he set them down out of reach of the other and retrieved a leather bag he usually used to store his science equipment. He'd get a new one later. He put two of the last few bags in it and walked over to John. "Here. I'm sure you're teething as well." he said, smirking as he handed it over. "Just sink your teeth in and find the blood."

John took the bag and flashed Sherlock a toothy yet thankful grin before sinking his teeth into the leather. He moaned in relief; the cool leather helped ease the ache in his gums and jaw, and the first gush of cool blood against his tongue was the most euphoric experience he thought he would ever have outside of really amazing sex. He drank hungrily, his eyes closing in bliss. By the time he had found and drained both donor bags within the leather case, he was feeling sluggishly full and sated. He licked his lips and teeth clean before handing the bag back to Sherlock. "Thanks." he mumbled. He was beginning to feel more like himself, but he wasn't able to shake the juvenile dependency he now felt towards Sherlock either. He knew that this was part of what Sherlock had been explaining, so he didn't resent it. 

Sherlock stood by, watching as the other sunk his teeth into the crude bag of blood. He faintly remembered his own teething stage, biting into less crude bags of dried flesh to pierce at blood, his young teeth feeling the need to just _bite_. John's experience seemed to be much different however, which it must be; the hunger of a younger but stronger being held in a slightly more matured body.The sight of it was amazing. The detective nodded, taking the bag away and setting it into the sink; maybe it could be reused. He approached the other then, hands coming up to stroke at the sides of John face.

"You've had a busy a morning. You should get some sleep, and we can handle the rest of what's new at nightfall." Although he said this pretty normally, there was a still a touch of that demanding tone, feeding it in bits to the other.

John leaned into Sherlock's touch like an attention starved cat and nodded. "Does this mean I can't go outside in the sun?" he mumbled stupidly, because while he was aware that Sherlock went out in the daylight he was too tired and overwhelmed to be able to process intelligent thought at this point. He stood up shakily and started to stumbled towards the stairs after that, only to sag against the wall and sigh in irritation; he wasn't going to get very far. 

"Not exactly. But there are some differences we will be outlining later." Sherlock pulled back for a moment as the other got up, blinking. For a moment, he just watched John, stubborn as always to do things by himself. A growl came up from his throat as John sagged against the wall; one second he was standing in the kitchen, the next he was cornering the new changeling against the wall. "You can't do this, John. I know you're strong...that's more true than ever now. But you still need help. You're weak in most terms. When you need help, you ask me for it. No more soldiering on your own." his eyes remained piercing the entire time, until they softened a bit. "Come and sleep on my bed. I want to keep you close so I can keep an eye on you."

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, almost bewildered as he realized how much his vision had changed. He had always had excellent eyesight, but now everything was different. Sherlock's eyes were so much brighter, more piercing, and his cheekbones sharper, hair darker...it was entrancing. He swallowed roughly and nodded, allowing himself to shift so he was leaning against Sherlock. "Alright. Sorry. I just...y'know. I'm me." he said, finally finding the ability to speak normally as he let Sherlock lead him to the bedroom.

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Sherlock laid John down gently and offered him a small, reassuring smile. John looked sleepy and content in his duvet, but Sherlock knew that he might not be so content at a moment's notice. As he turned to leave the room, John made a small noise which caused Sherlock to freeze in his tracks.

"Will you stay? Please?" John asked quietly, his eyes wide and hopeful. Sherlock recognized the look as that needy, youthful look he had seen in the eyes of other changelings. The fact that Sherlock was responsible for John for the next one hundred years was not forgotten in that moment. If anything, it was solidified and accepted by the detective, who knew that changelings were often dependent on the vampire that had changed them for at least the few weeks it took for the blood lust to wear off. Sherlock nodded and carefully sat down next to John before pulling the duvet over the other's shoulders. 

"Of course." he murmured in response. He knew that he would have to notify the coven of the changeling soon; even if Mycroft had bugs in the flat, it was common courteousy. But right now the bond between Sherlock and John was humming with that new, delicate intimacy and if Sherlock abandoned him now John might become distant and resentful. Sherlock's eyes widened at the realization. He immediately locked the idea up, safe and sound in the small closet of information for their most current case in his mind palace. 

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A few hours later, Sherlock blinked rapidly, having fallen asleep to the deep, reassuring sound of John's breathing as he slept. A new scent had filled his nose, one that made him growl low in his throat before slipping out of the bed noiselessly. He crept into the sitting room and closed the door behind him.

"Hello Mycroft." he said almost bitterly, and Mycroft offered him a calm smile that didn't quite reach his eyes at the greeting.

"Sherlock. I'm glad to see that you and Mr. Watson have finally come to this decision. I've been expecting this for quite a while. I'm disappointed it took a case for you to inform John of your affections however." Mycroft replied, and Sherlock's pale hands clenched into fists as he sat in his armchair. 

"You know that I don't do sentiment well Mycroft. Had John never expressed an interest in the change, I would have never suggested it. You know how I feel about it." Sherlock delivered in response. Mycroft chuckled at this and shook his head.

"That wasn't exactly what I was speaking about Sherlock, and you know that." Mycroft said, leaning forward and shooting his younger brother a knowing glance. Sherlock's pale cheeks were dusted with pink for the briefest moment before he returned his face to a mask of indifference.

"That is none of your business Mycroft." he said tersely, and Mycroft sighed heavily before leaning back in John's armchair. 

"Fine. However, your new changeling  _is_ my business. Mummy is rather upset that you didn't inform her before changing him." Mycroft said. Sherlock rolled his eyes and folded one leg over the other slowly. 

"If you had been paying attention, I had no time to deal with your social niceties. Besides, informing Mummy would have only been necessary if I had changed John for a more...intimate purpose." Sherlock shot back. Mycroft chuckled once more and let his umbrella tap against the arm of the chair once. 

"Yes, but I'm sure that now the idea of an eternal future with Doctor Watson is more than just an appealing dream." Mycroft practically sneered. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he developed a defensive posture; chest thrown forward, back ramrod straight, shoulders smoothed out to their greatest width. 

"My intentions for the future that I have with John are absolutely none of your business, and I suggest you stay the hell out of it." Sherlock growled. 

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John awoke to the low rumble of two voices in the sitting room and sat up with a soft groan. He knew immediately that it was Mycroft. There was no mistaking the pompous lilt to his words or the slightly sweet, strong scent emanating from the other room.  _Wait, scent?_ John thought and when he opened his eyes he wanted to scream as his senses were fully assaulted. Everything was bright and had sharp, clear edges, even in the darkness of the room. He could feel every individual thread in the sheets, the poke of feather tips in the duvet, the scratch of his teeshirt on his skin. He could hear every word that Sherlock and Mycroft said, Mrs. Hudson's telly downstairs, the rush of water in the pipes of the flat, the slam of a car door three blocks away. The only thing that made him feel better was the rich, spicy smell of Sherlock in the sheets and pillow case. He breathed it in deeply, and eventually he grew used to his newly refined senses. When the shock had worn off, he slowly stood. While he was still a little shaky, it wasn't noticable if he set his jaw and walked with purpose. 

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Mycroft looked up in surprise when John emerged from the bedroom, looking paler than usual (which was to be expected), but steady and moving on his own. 

"I see you are feeling better already John. Moving about on your own this early into the transition; a big accomplishment for a changeling." Mycroft said, and John picked up on the almost mocking tone of his voice. He bared his teeth at the man defensively and sat on the arm of Sherlock's chair since Mycroft was occupying his own as if he owned the place. 

"I was a soldier. I've endured worse." John responded coolly, schooling his face into indifference so quickly that Sherlock couldn't help but feel a bit proud. Much of what made Sherlock so good at looking impassive was from the vampire blood itself, and so John was picking up on those traits quickly. Mycroft huffed a small noise of irritation, realizing that he would now have to deal with Sherlock  _and_ John for all of eternity. 

"Well I will leave you two to... _bond_." Mycroft said, sneering the last word at Sherlock. Sherlock flashed his fangs at Mycroft as well and didn't move when the elder Holmes walked towards the door. They sat there, both of them incredibly still, until they heard Mycroft's car drive away, and then Sherlock allowed himself a small smile. 

"Oh, I am so glad that I chose you John." he murmured half to himself. John's cheeks flushed at the compliment and he nodded in agreement.

"I am too." John responded before pausing. "So, this sensory overload...that's normal, right?" 

"For a changeling, yes. Your sense will have attained unnatural heights during your sleep. Are you feeling well? I heard that sometimes the change can be nauseating and even alarming for changelings." Sherlock asked, and there was no mistaking the concern in his voice. Sherlock was feeling irritatingly possessive and protective of John now, no doubt thanks to the fact that  _he_ had been the one to change John.

"I feel fine now. At first I wanted to puke, but now that I've gotten used to it I'm alright. I got flashbanged a few times in the army so I'm used to the sensory overload." John explained. "Although flashbangs are more of a loss of all your senses, whereas this is an increase." 

Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle at this as he stood fluidly. John was not dislodged from the arm of the chair as the taller man moved, and he followed Sherlock with his eyes as Sherlock made his way into the kitchen. Experimentally, Sherlock took out another of their quickly dwindling supply of blood bags and poked a small hole in it with the tip of a steak knife. John's pupils immediately widened and he licked his lips hungrily. He was overcome with the desire to launch himself at Sherlock, but he checked his impulse quickly. Sherlock looked out to see him hovering half off the arm of the chair and nodded in approval. 

"Already gaining control of your blood lust...good." he said as he moved into the sitting room. John made a small noise of desire as Sherlock drew closer, but he made no further move to snatch the bag from his friend's hands. "Here, you're going to need as much blood as you can get for the next few days. I believe Mycroft has already sent a shipment our way. If he isn't as stupid as he pretends to be sometimes." Sherlock added with a wry grin. John snatched the bag from Sherlock and sank his fangs into the plastic greedily, sucking the blood from it at marathon speeds. It was drained within a matter of seconds, and John licked his lips clean before handing it back to Sherlock. 

"Thanks." was all he was able to say as he registered the change in his body; he felt warmer and stronger already. But then his stomach gave an awful turn and he fell off of the chair. 

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, worry creasing his brow. John groaned and clutched at his stomach, crawling towards the bathroom. He slammed the door shut and locked it before the sounds of retching filled the air. After the retching ceased, a much more unpleasant sound took its place for a while. After about an hour John emerged from the bathroom, pale and shaky. 

"I think I just...puked out my mortality." he panted, and this drew a small smile from Sherlock. 

"Usually when people die their bodies...dispose of waste immediately. I'm guessing your body held onto it for as long as possible. I believe the transition should be complete now, except for the blood lust. That'll last at least a week." Sherlock mused. John made a face that was half disgust and half embarrassment before collapsing onto the couch with a small moan. 

"I know I just spent the last hour puking among other things, but could I possibly have some more? I'm honestly starving." John murmured, his arm thrown across his eyes. Sherlock smiled and fetched a bag from the refrigerator. 

"Here. No more for another few hours though. You need to learn to control your hunger or you'll be ripping out the throats of every mortal you come across." Sherlock said seriously. John moved his arm to reveal the look of horror on his face. 

"I wouldn't. I won't hurt anyone. Oh god, Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson." he breathed.

"Mrs. Hudson is fully aware of my...condition and knows what to do if a vampire attacks her." Sherlock replied calmly, pressing the cold blood bag into John's hand. This was apparently all the reassurance John needed, as he buried his fangs into the plastic once more and sucked the container dry. 

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The next few days were spent in 221B. Sherlock taught John how to control his new strength, which had developed after the first night and meant that John had accidentally torn the bathroom door off of its hinges when he went to pee. He promised to fix it, and Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and repaired it himself. The sunlight, which apparently  _didn't_ burn John's skin off, was overwhelming to his eyesight. He spent the first two days after the transition wearing sunglasses and sitting with the curtains drawn, but after that he adjusted quickly and was soon able to leave the windows open again. On the eigth day after being changed, Mrs. Hudson came up to visit and while she smelled incredibly enticing, John was able to curb the desire to latch onto her neck and acted as if nothing happened. 

Mrs. Hudson smiled knowingly when she saw the fangs peek out at her when John sipped his tea though. Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing that, like Mycroft and Mummy, Mrs. Hudson thought that the change was done out of a romantic impulse. 

Ten days after John changed, the next body showed up.

"John, it's time." 


End file.
